He kissed her neck softly and she could feel the nerves in her back flared like the cherry of cigarette. Her eyes quickly met his and she gave him a questioning look, half of surprise, half of suspicion. A sly smirk slowly spilled itself across his face and his hands moved closer to the three little pieces of metal fixed in the middle of her back. She bit her bottom lip in hesitation. This had nothing to do with pleasure. This had nothing to do with revenge. This was about the fact that she was simply a breathing sex doll. Instead of cold rubber, there was warm skin. Instead of a blank painted expression, there were eyes blinking and observing. Instead of lifeless limbs, there was motion and reaction. But nothing else about this experience expressed that two living human beings were involved; just one very horny boy and one very empty hole.
She felt his hand snake up her shirt and she bit down on the meat of his neck, moving up to his ear. He flipped her over with one quick motion and glared down at her with hungry eyes. She wanted it. He knew this, and who would he be to let her go unsatisfied. It wouldn’t take long and there would be no talking, arguing, or cuddling afterward. He wouldn’t have to remember their anniversary, or introduce her to his parents. There would be no gifts or cards purchased around the holidays and no worries of sentimental bullshit. No awkward attempts to find things in common or casual mishaps in offending the other. It was just a good fuck. Just a good go around with a girl who had a decent rack and knack for moaning. Sure she didn’t look bad, and she had a compromising personal taste in the macabre, thus making her an excellent way to escape the seriousness of a real relationship and the day to day stresses that seemed to close in on him daily. She was half an hour of distraction and that was all he wanted.
She smiled sarcastically as she opened the door and he moved out into the hallway.
“Good to see you.” She said with vague interest. “Hit me up whenever.”
He faked a smile back at her as he turned to go.
“Sure thing” he replied and walked down the stairs out of the building. With the door shut and the night over, her pleasant demeanor quickly went back to the sulking frustration she normally felt. She was physical relief and since honest relationships were a myth and feelings a setback at best, physical relief was at least a title that meant she had some worth. She brought nothing more to people than the potential to fuck. She had long since learned that her desire to be more in the likes of intellect and general companionship would rarely be shared and that she held most favor with others when they received the opportunity to see her naked. That was where the real value came from. She prided herself on the fact that she needed nothing to do with honest emotion regarding other people, but the empty sexual purpose for which she had found somehow was just that; empty. She accepted that it was either buying into the denial filled bullshit of believing that communication was founded on genuine interest and comradely compassion, or it was accepting the fact that by the end of night the only desired outcome, were clothes upon the floor. These two ideas could not coexist, and the first notion had yet to truly present itself.
Sex was a part of life.
It wasn’t his fault he used her.
It wasn’t her fault she let him use her.
It was just how life worked, and no amount of shame, emotion or lust would ever change that.